I absolutely believe that adults should read YA books! In fact, I’ll get right up on my soapbox about it. A Northern Light has become part of a reading phenomenon known as the crossover novel—a phenom that’s actually become a bit controversial. The controversy stems from the view that adults who take an interest in kids’ books are only indulging their Peter Pan complexes, or worse yet, dumbing themselves down.

Just because we choose to tote Harry Potter along on the morning commute, it doesn’t mean we’re regressing. It simply means we like Harry. He interests us. His world and his struggle to understand it interest us. Should we deny ourselves the pleasure of his company simply because he’s a kid and we’re not? The idea that books for and about young adults can only be of interest to young adults is absurd. It’s like telling a reader not to bother with Ulysses unless she’s Irish or Trainspotting unless he uses heroin. The stories we like define us. They embody our experiences, hopes, fears and dreams. Dismiss a person’s stories, and you dismiss that person. Books are not gated communities, they’re open and shimmering cities where we can all come and go at will, freely sampling other lives and times, other cultures and realities.

It was important to me to show the impact of this incredibly wrong, incredibly sad death on a living girl, a local girl from the isolated, rural community in which the murder occurred. A girl who was poised on the brink of a huge decision—one that would involve either accepting other people’s ideas of what her life should be, or carving out her own path. I hoped that teenaged girls reading the book today might be inspired by Mattie’s example to confront the hard choices in their own lives.

It took me ten long years to write my first novel, The Tea Rose. Ten long hard years of writing and rewriting, and writing some more. Usually at 4:30 am before I headed off to work. And at night. And on weekends. Vacations. There was a lot I didn’t do, a lot I sacrificed in order to keep writing. It was very bleak at times. There were many, many sleepless nights when I never thought I’d make it. So when I got that call, I got up from desk at my copywriting job and walked the cold winter streets of Manhattan, numb and disbelieving and beyond happy. Then I bought a bottle of good champagne, took it home, drank it down with my husband and danced on the dining room table.

I do believe in true love and soulmates. And how. My husband was my high school sweetheart. He had all the things high school girls look for—he was cute, with fabulous blue eyes, a knee-weakening smile and a fabulous butt. He was funny and kind and he smelled good. He still has all those things, and he still is all those things. And he still smells good, too!

Oh, forget it! That’s just too horrible to even consider!! Never ever for a second did I have any doubt that they would find each other again.

You know, I actually didn’t decide to do that. It just kind of happened. It’s not like I’m this horrible author-god tearing the wings off my characters. The story just kind of grows out of who they are, and what they want, and takes on a momentum of its own. So don’t blame me, blame that rotten Frankie Betts!

I’m thrilled to hear that you loved it better than The Tea Rose at times. As a writer, you want the reader to love the sequel, not to say “Wow. What a disaster. She should’ve left well enough alone.” Do you know who else loves The Winter Rose? Barbara Taylor Bradford. She is my total homegirl! A Woman of Substance is one of my all-time favorite books. I read it when I was thirteen. Though I really shouldn’t have, because it had racy bits. This is what BTB said about The Winter Rose: “I loved this book. It is truly seductive, hard to put down, filled with mystery, secret passions, unique locations, and a most engaging heroine. India Selwyn Jones is a new breed of woman in London in 1900, a doctor practicing in the grim East End, and she captivates from the first page to the last.” Shwing!!!!